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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/bensonpoemsOObensrich 


POEMS:  BY  ROBERT 
HUGH  BENSON 


*  POEMS  * 

BY    ROBERT    HUGH 

BENSON 


NEW   YORK 
P.  J.  KENEDY   &   SONS 
44   BARCLAY   STREET 


4  POEMS  *> 

BY    ROBERT    HUGH 
BENSON 


LONDON 

BURNS    AND    O  ATE  S 

28   ORCHARD   STREET 

W 


PKELAN 

First  Impression,  ^December  1 9 14 
Second  Impression,  January  1915 
'Third  Impression,  February  1 9 1 5 


4}  CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTORY    NOTE*.    P.     1 3. 

LINES    WRITTEN    BEFORE    AUGUST    I9O3  *.    P.    27. 

A    HALT  *    P.    29. 

PATIENCE  !    P.    31. 

AT    PRAYER    MEETING  I    P.    32. 

AT    HIGH    MASS  *.    P.    33. 

VISIONS   OF   THE    NIGHT  I    P.    34. 

PLEAD    THOU    MY    CAUSE  I    ATTRITION  :    P.    38. 

PLEAD    THOU    MY    CAUSE  *.    CONTRITION  I    P.    39. 

THE    INVITATION  :    P.    40. 

THE    TERESIAN    CONTEMPLATIVE  *.    P.    43. 

O    DEUS    EGO    AMO    TE  *.    P.    45. 

FULFILMENT  :    P.    46. 

AFTER    A    RETREAT  :    P.    50. 

IN    THE    MONTH    OF    MAY  I    P.    52. 

WEDDING    HYMN  :    P.    55. 

SAVONAROLA    MORITURUS  :    P.    57. 

HERO-WORSHIP  :    P.    60. 

LAUDA    SION    SALVATOREM  *.    P.    6l. 

CHRISTIAN    EVIDENCES  I    P.    64. 

THE    PRIEST'S    LAMENT  :    P.    68. 

IN    THE    GARDEN    OF    A    RELIGIOUS    HOUSE  :    P.    70. 

A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL  :    P.    73. 

AVE    VERUM    CORPUS    NATUM  I    P.    78. 

THE  appendix:   P.  81. 

FACSIMILE    OF    WRITING  *.    P.   86. 


774177 


A     NOTE     OF 

INTRODUCTION 

BY    WILFRID 

MEYNELL 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 

THE  death  of  Robert  Hugh  Benson  in  the 
October  of  19 14  came  as  a  grief  and  a 
loss  which  even  war-time  and  the  long 
roll  of  heroic  dead  could  not  diminish  or  obscure. 
Yet  those  who  were  bound  to  him  by  ties  of  spiritual 
as  well  as  personal  affection  had  at  least  this 
consolation,  that  such  ties  are  of  all  the  most  en- 
during; and  that  he  who  had  brought  them  on  earth 
very  near  to  Heaven  would  in  Heaven  be  very  near 
to  them  on  earth.  And  to  that  intimate  company 
were  joined  a  multitude  who  knew  him  only  by  what 
he  had  publicly  done  and  written  and  spoken,  and 
whose  feeling  was  fitly  represented  by  a  girl  who, 
hearing  he  had  gone,  was  silent  and  then  said,  "One 
feels  as  if  one  had  lost  a  near  relation" — something 
closer  than  a  friend.  Even  so  there  was  this  reprieve 
— he  was  a  relative  who  had  left  to  all  of  us  a  legacy, 
an  example  for  an  inheritance. 

For,  if  it  seems  that  the  loss  of  the  active  man  of 
fine  talents  is  the  irreparable  one,  let  this  at  least  be 

13 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
our  comfort  that  his  activities  go  on  to  a  continual 
harvesting.  Robert  Hugh  Benson,  dying  at  the 
age  of  forty-three,  achieved  more  in  that  short 
span  than  it  is  commonly  given  to  the  longest  career 
to  put  to  its  account.  The  eleven  years  of  his 
Catholic  life,  judged  by  its  labours,  might  be  called, 
in  the  poet's  phrase,  eleven  years  of  years.  A  com- 
plete subjugation  of  the  will  was  his  note  ;  and  one 
of  its  evidences  was  the  unflagging  labour  of  his 
pen,  which  he  was  therefore  able  to  pledge  to  half- 
incredulous  publishers  in  advance,  with  a  certainty 
of  performance.  What  that  exacted  drudgery  cost 
a  man  whose  business  was  in  some  sort  his  sensitive- 
ness of  apprehension,  and  who  had,  as  it  were,  to 
yield  to  his  moods  in  order  to  make  his  "copy," 
perhaps  only  writers  of  his  own  standing  can  ap- 
preciate. Certain  it  is  that  no  such  strain  can  be 
made  without  imminent  danger  of  a  snapping.  A 
kite  may  flap  idly  in  the  air  with  a  long  bedraggled 
life  that  achieves  nothing.  But  an  air-machine, 
such  as  those  with  which  the  author  of  the  "  Lord 
of  the  World  "  filled  our  atmosphere,  has,  with  a 
higher  and  purposeful  flight,  a  more  disastrous  down- 
fall. The  small  hitch  deals  out  death  and  destruc- 
14 


ROBERT    HUGH     BENSON 

tion.  Mgr.  Benson  knew  that  the  high  flight 
meant  the  annihilating  fall,  and,  looking  into  "  the 
bright  face  of  danger,"  he  did  not  shrink  from  the 
track  his  sense  of  duty  and  service  marked  out  for 
him.  Why  should  he  have  shrunk,  beli-eving  what 
he  believed,  and  being,  besides,  logical  ?  It  was 
characteristic  of  him,  as  a  man  who  was  at  once  all 
things  to  all  men,  and  nothing  to  any  man,  that, 
only  a  few  months  before  the  end,  when  a  lady 
asked  to  read  his  hand,  he  gave  it  to  her  ;  and,  on 
being  told  that  he  would  die  before  he  was  fifty, 
exclaimed,  "  What  good  news  !  " 

When  Robert  Hugh  Benson,  after  days  at  Eton 
and  Cambridge,  after  ordination,  parish  experience 
and  an  attempt  at  Community  life  as  an  Anglican, 
entered  the  Catholic  Church,  he  was  only  thirty- 
two,  and  had  given  little  or  no  public  sign  of  the 
mental  and  spiritual  development  possible  to  him. 
It  might  have  been  not  unreasonably  supposed  that 
he  would  depend  for  his  importance  on  the  paradox 
of  his  position — that  of  the  first  son  of  an  English 
Primate,  barring  only  Toby  Matthew,  to  become  a 
Catholic.  He  might  count  upon  a  success  of 
curiosity  ;  his  lot  that  of  a  handy  substitute  to  open 

15 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
a  bazaar  the  day  her  ladyship  was  so  provokingly 
lacking.  The  boyish  manner  of  the  young  blue- 
eyed,  blond-haired  neophyte  perhaps  favoured  the 
notion  of  his  abandonment  to  such  a  fate.  And  it 
is  the  test  and  triumph  of  Mgr.  Benson's  achieve- 
ments that  his  origin  was  swiftly  forgotten  in  his 
own  originality,  and  that  he  became  far  too  eminent 
in  himself  to  be  thought  or  spoken  of  any  more  as 
his  eminent  father's  son. 

These  activities,  that  did  not  rely  on  mere  im- 
pulse, and  that,  theretore,  cost  him  dearly,  were 
all-embracing,  public  and  private,  undertaken 
always  with  one  purpose — helpfulness  to  others. 
To  this  end,  difficulties  existed  only  to  be  over- 
come. One  of  his  brothers  tells  of  Robert  Hugh 
that,  in  childhood,  he  was  afraid  to  enter  a  dark 
room,  and,  on  being  asked  why,  said,  "I  see 
b — b — blood."  That  shrinking  from  the  un- 
known, translated  in  after-life  into  a  thousand  and 
one  reluctances  to  confront  strange  things,  strange 
places,  strange  faces,  he  utterly  extinguished  in 
himself,  just  as  he  fought  down  hesitations  of 
manner,  and  never  allowed  defects  of  delivery  to 
lessen  by  one  his  appearances  in  the  pulpit  or  on 
16 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
the  platform.  Conferences  could  never  be  dead 
things  when  he  was  there  to  give  them  life — to 
give  them  literally,  as  we  now  reckon,  his  own  life. 
The  absence  in  him  of  all  desire  to  shine,  of  all  the 
vanity  which  severe  moralists  like  Manning  sensi- 
tively suspect  in  the  popular  preacher,  allowed  him, 
nevertheless,  on  any  serviceable  private  occasion,  to 
talk  about  the  last  thing  he  wanted  to  think  about, 
himself.  The  multitude  of  people  he  instructed 
into  the  Church — men  of  the  world,  noble-hearted 
women  not  a  few,  undergraduates  whom  they 
called  "Bensonians"  at  Cambridge — heard  from 
him  about  his  own  ways  and  byways  into  the 
Heavenly  Jerusalem.  They  knew  that  as  an 
Anglican  clergyman  he  had  heard  confessions 
constantly,  and  had  regarded  the  confessional  then 
with  exactly  the  same  reverence  and  sanctity  that 
a  Catholic  brought  to  it ;  and  that  he  had  told  his 
rosary  like  any  nun.  They  knew  that  he  had  already 
turned  aside  from  the  Higher  Critics  to  the  man  in 
the  street,  for  whom  "  The  Religion  of  the  Plain 
Man"  was  afterwards  indited;  and,  in  this  relation, 
it  is  worth  noting  that  he  just  lived  long  enough  to 
see  Professor  von  Harnack,  confident  interpreter  of 
B  17 


ROBERT    HUGH    BENSON 

ancient  documents,  giving  a  grotesque  travesty 
of  current  ones  which  the  said  Plain  Man  who 
runs  may  read.  Nor  did  Mgr.  Benson  refrain  from 
acknowledging,  even  to  those  who  classed  it  with 
Wardour  Street  literature,  that  "  John  Inglesant " 
obtained  a  powerful  hold  on  his  young  imagination, 
and  ranked  among  the  commanding  influences  that 
brought  him  into  the  Church.  His  matured  taste 
turned  otherwhere  perhaps ;  for  he  came  to  the 
opinion  that  Francis  Thompson's  "  Hound  of 
Heaven "  was  the  most  valuable  auxiliary  of  the 
missionary  priest  in  his  work  for  the  conversion  or 
England. 

And  always  at  the  end  of  all  recountings  came 
the  profession: — "Every  single  day  of  my  life  I 
thank  God  more  and  more  that  I  am  a  Catholic." 
Every  single  day,  too,  that  thankfulness  was  made 
manifest  in  more  than  speech.  His  labours,  easily 
within  the  recollection  of  all  who  read,  need  here 
no  enumeration.  If  he  was  not  composing  a  novel 
with  a  purpose,  he  was  compiling  a  prayer-book  or 
writing  a  mystery-play,  or  a  comedy  for  the  pro- 
fessional stage,  which  ecclesiastic  rule  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  see  performed  ;  or  he  was  talking  at  street 
18 


ROBERT    HUGH     BENSON 

corners — the  vanguard  indeed  ;  or  he  was  preaching 
a  course  of  sermons  in  Rome  or  London,  or,  as  at 
the  last  hour,  in  Salford  ;  or  he  was  instructing  and 
receiving  converts,  or  going  far  afield  to  baptize 
somebody's  baby  to  please  a  young  mother,  or  con- 
ferring with  an  aged  invalid  to  please  a  daughter  ;  or 
lecturing,  or  writing  verses,  which  are  in  themselves 
a  revelation  of  his  character,  a  revelation  which  in  this 
volume  is  now  publicly  made  ;  or  he  was  eagerly 
investigating  psychic  phenomena  ;  or,  in  what  to 
him  were  hours  of  idleness,  devising  a  scheme  for  a 
Catholic  colony,  or  carving,  or  decorating  with  his 
own  hand  his  interesting  Hare  Street  House  at  Bun- 
tingford.  There  he  learned  tapestry  weaving ;  and  to 
complete  the  panels  that  record  The  Dance  of  Death, 
he  designed  yet  one  more  in  which  Death  meets 
Robert  Hugh  Benson. 

Of  his  services  to  charitable  institutions  we  need 
make  no  record  except  this — that  he  had  an  im- 
personal partiality  for — all  of  them.  Yet  one  may  be 
named  apart,  the  Homes  of  Mr.  Norman  Potter,  since 
it  was  for  their  benefit  that  he  put  into  the  market 
the  autobiographical  and  heart-searching  poems  here 
printed.     They   are   very  intimate ;    and   as   such 

l9 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
are  proper  to  poetry  even  in  the  case  of  a  writer 
who  had  not  specially  studied  the  mechanism  of 
poetry  as  his  medium.  Under  cover  of  poetical  con- 
vention, he  is  able  to  bare  himself,  equally  in  the 
lines  written  before  he  became  a  Catholic  in  1903, 
and  in  "  The  Priest's  Lament  "  of  a  later  date.  In 
"Christian  Evidences"  he  gets  back  to  his  intui- 
tions ;  to  that  which  made  him,  ardent  investigator 
though  he  was,  ever  in  closer  touch  with  the  simple 
than  with  the  scientific — back  to  that  witness  within 
himself  which  Christ  promises  and  gives  to  all  His 
own;  while  in  "Visions  of  the  Night"  we  are 
at  close  quarters  with  that  apprehensiveness  which, 
while  it  imposed  suffering,  also  conferred  insight — > 
the  insight  by  which  others  learned  to  see.  One 
passage  in  "  Savonarola  Moriturus "  is  especially 
self- revealing,  and  that  for  a  reason  it  is  now  no 
breach  of  decorum  to  set  forth.  A  year  or  two  before 
his  death  he  talked  with  a  neophyte  on  the  sacrifices 
one  might  have  to  make  for  the  Faith.  "And  are  you 
sure  you  would  make  them  all  ?  "  he  was  asked.  His 
reply  was  that  he  would  like  to  say  "  Yes,"  but  that 
he  dare  not  answer  for  what  he  might  be  made  to 
yield  under  bodily  torture.  The  first  four  lines  of  the 
20 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
second  stanza  of  the  Savonarola  poem  are  the  more 
poignant  for  this  modesty  of  the  author's  own 
estimate  of  his  powers  of  endurance,  powers  which 
he  thenceforth  put  to  sharp  apprenticeship  and  test, 
passing  out,  not  vanquished,  but  victor. 

Of  his  novels  I  do  not  here  attempt  an  appre- 
ciation. As  a  ruthless  writer,  where  ruthlessness 
comes  into  the  scheme  of  a  man's  salvation,  as  it 
had  been  in  that  of  his  own,  let  him  be  ranked. 
In  the  spiritual  warfare  he  gave  no  quarter. 
Whether  he  was  cruel,  besides,  in  the  burning  of 
The  Coward,  who  makes  indeed  cowards  of  us  all  ; 
whether  he  views  woman  as  no  more  than  an 
adjunct  of  man,  an  accident  for  the  hindering  or  the 
helping  of  his  salvation  ;  whether  Dorothy  is  properly 
killed  so  that  Roger  Mallock  may  prove  his  vocation ; 
these,  and  many  more,  are  the  problems  that 
palpitate  in  his  pages,  and  that  men  and  women, 
according  to  their  varied  experiences,  will  variously 
adjudge.  Of  his  historical  novels  in  general  he 
was  inclined  to  say  very  much  what  he  said  of 
"  Come  Rack,  Come  Rope "  :  "I  fear  it  is  the 
kind  of  book  which  anyone  acquainted  with  the 
history,  manners,  and  customs  of  the  Elizabethan 

21 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
age  should  find  no  difficulty  in  writing."  If,  in  this 
class,  the  author  proved  conspicuously  his  industry 
and  his  facility — uncommon  but  not  rare  faculties 
— then  in  "  Initiation "  and  other  studies  of 
current  life  he  was  nothing  if  not  individual. 
In  these  he  was  of  his  age  and  no  other  ;  he  was 
himself  and  no  other.  Nor  were  the  sensitivenesses 
of  these  books  without  their  effect  on  the  whole 
of  his  productions.  When  in  historical  romance  he 
described  a  martyrdom,  we  have  also  his  own  com- 
ment on  it  :  a  It  seems  to  me,  who  have  never 
been  on  the  rack,  that  I  have  succeeded  pretty  well 
in  writing  down  what  the  rack  must  have  felt  like, 
and  the  mental  states  it  must  have  induced.  When 
I  had  finished  writing  that  scene,  I  was  conscious  or 
very  distinct,  even  slightly  painful,  sensations  in  my 
own  wrists  and  ankles."  Obviously  there  was  an 
apprehension,  necessary  for  one  class  of  book,  which 
greatly  benefited  the  other ;  and  the  experience 
of  the  hero  in  "  Initiation  "  could  not  have  been 
conveyed,  had  not  the  author  himself  gone  under 
an  anaesthetic  in  a  nursing  home ;  and  again 
endured  another  ordeal  without  an  opiate,  "  to 
learn  what  pain  really  was" — a  sharp  lesson  of 
22 


ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 
sixty  hours.  Similarly  the  description  of  the  head- 
aches of  the  hero  (how  real  a  hero  !)  in  "  Initia- 
tion," the  most  vivid  description  of  its  class 
in  all  English  literature,  could  only  have  been 
written  by  one  who  had  himself  suffered  them, 
and  suffered  them  with  a  sensibility  that  is  fortu- 
nately the  iron  crown  conferred  upon  only  the  very 
elect. 

To  be  so  capable  of  suffering  and  yet  to  face 
it,  and,  as  we  might  say  in  the  instance  just 
given,  to  waylay  it  and  embrace  it — that  is  one 
of  the  many  marvels  of  Mgr.  Benson's  quickly- 
ended — or  never  to  be  ended — career.  Fit  with 
his  perpetual  sense  of  detachment  was  his  death 
far  from  his  home.  Failure  of  the  heart  was  the 
final  paradox  in  the  history  of  a  man  whose 
heart  had  never  failed  him  before,  were  a  hurt 
soul  to  be  healed,  or  an  uncovenanted  kindness 
to  be  done. 

"  He  maketh  His  ministers  a  flame  of  fire." 
Knowing  the  minister,  we  infer  the  flame.  But 
with  many — and  notably  with  Robert  Hugh  Benson 
— there  is  the  double  and  responsive  signal — the 
flame    proclaims    the    minister.      And    because    he 

23 


ROBERT    HUGH    BENSON 
sought    every    breeze    that    fanned    that    fire,    and 
because  he  made  haste  to  diffuse  the  light  and  the 
warmth  till   he  burnt  himself  out,  his  very  ashes 
shall  be  held  as  a  sacred  trust. 

W.  M. 


24 


POEMS 


LINES 

WRITTEN  BEFORE  AUGUST   I903 

1  CANNOT  soar  and  sing  my  Lord  and  love ; 
No  eagle's  wings  have  I, 
No  power  to  rise  and  greet  my  King  above, 
No  heart  to  fly. 
Creative  Lord  Incarnate,  let  me  lean 

My  heavy  self  on  Thee  ; 
Nor  let  my  utter  weakness  come  between 
Thy  strength  and  me. 

I  cannot  trace  Thy  Providence  and  plan, 

Nor  dimly  comprehend 
What  in  Thyself  Thou  art,  and  what  is  man, 

And  what  the  end. 
Here  in  this  wilderness  I  cannot  find 

The  path  the  Wise  Men  trod  -> 
Grant  me  to  rest  on  Thee,  Incarnate  Mind 

And  Word  of  God. 

1 
I  cannot  love,  my  heart  is  turned  within 

And  locked  within  ;  (Ah  me  ! 

How  shivering  in  self-love  I  sit)  for  sin 

Has  lost  the  key. 

27 


LINES 

Ah  !  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus,  Flame  divine, 

Ardent  with  great  desire, 
My  hope  is  set  upon  that  love  of  Thine, 

Deep  Well  of  Fire. 

I  cannot  live  alone  another  hour  ; 

Jesu,  be  Thou  my  Life  ! 
I  have  not  power  to  strive  ;  be  Thou  my  Power 

In  every  strife  ! 
I  can  do  nothing — hope,  nor  love,  nor  fear, 

But  only  fail  and  fall. 
Be  Thou  my  soul  and  self,  O  Jesu  dear, 

My  God  and  all  ! 


28 


A  HALT 

Estill,  my  soul,  the  Sun  of  Grace 
Is  warm  within  this  garden  space 
Beneath  tall  kindly  trees. 
The  quiet  light  is  green  and  fair  ; 
A  fragrance  fills  the  swooning  air  ; 
Lie  still,  and  take  thine  ease. 


This  silent  noon  of  Jesu's  love 
Is  warm  about  thee  and  above — 

A  tender  Lord  is  He. 
Lie  still  an  hour — this  place  is  His. 
He  has  a  thousand  pleasaunces, 
And  each  all  fair  and  fragrant  is, 

And  each  is  all  for  thee. 


Then,  Jesu,  for  a  little  space 
I  rest  me  in  this  garden  place, 

All  sweet  to  scent  and  sight. 
Here,  from  this  high-road  scarce  withdrawn, 
I  thrust  my  hot  hands  in  the  lawn 
Cool  yet  with  dew  of  far-off  dawn 

And  saturate  with  light. 

29 


A    H  A  LT 

But  ah,  dear  Saviour,  human-wise, 

I  yearn  to  pierce  all  mysteries, 

To  catch  Thine  Hands,  and  see  Thine  Eyes 

When  evening  sounds  begin. 
There,  in  Thy  white  Robe,  Thou  wilt  wait 
At  dusk  beside  some  orchard  gate, 
And  smile  to  see  me  come  so  late, 

And,  smiling,  call  me  in. 


30 


PATIENCE 


I 


I 


WAITED  for  the  Lord  a  little  space. 

So  little  !  in  whose  sight  as  yesterday 
Passes  a  thousand  years  : — I  cried  for  grace, 
Impatient  of  delay. 


II 


He  waited  tor  me— ah  so  long  !     For  He 

Sees  in  one  single  day  a  loss  or  gain 
That  bears  a  fruit  through  all  eternity  : — 
My  soul,  did  He  complain  ? 


3* 


I 

AT  PRAYER  MEETING 

THOU    who     hast    made    these    hearts    to 
answer  Thine, — 
Infused      Thy      virtues,       faith,      hope, 
charity, 
Mirror'd  Thine  image  here  that  all  may  see, 
If  such  be  earthly,  what  must  be  divine  ; 
Thou  who  hast  taught  by  riddle,  type,  and  sign, 
The  weakness  of  our  immaturity 
The  measure  of  Thy  strength  one  day  to  be, 
By  precept  upon  precept,  line  on  line  ; — 

Lord,   take  these  sighs  and   longings,    hopes    and 
fears, 
The  throb  of  love,  the  pulse  of  penitence, 
The  praise  of  all  Thy  love  has  done — shall  do — 

And  teach  us, — as  Thy  fuller  light  appears 
And  brightens  at  the  gates  of  earthly  sense, — 

Who  love  Thy  grace,  to  love  Thy  glory  too. 


32 


II 

AT  HIGH  MASS 

THOU   Who  hast  made  this  world  so  won- 
drous fair  ; — 
The  pomp   of  clouds  ;   the   glory  of  the 
sea  ; 
Music  of  water  ;  song-birds'  melody  ; 
The  organ  of  Thy  thunder  in  the  air  ; 
Breath  of  the  rose  ;  and  beauty  everywhere — 
Lord,  take  this  stately  service  done  to  Thee, 
The  grave  enactment  of  Thy  Calvary 
In  jewelled  pomp  and  splendour  pictured  there  ! 

Lord,  take  the  sounds  and  sights  ;  the  silk  and  gold; 
The  white  and  scarlet ;  take  the  reverent  grace 
Of  ordered  step  ;  window  and  glowing  wall — 

Prophet  and  Prelate,  holy  men  of  old  ; 
And  teach  us  children  of  the  Holy  Place 

Who  love  Thy  Courts,  to  love  Thee  best  of  all. 


33 


VISIONS  OF  THE  NIGHT 

LIBERA    ME  A  TERRORE    NOCTURNO   A  NEGOTIO 

PERAMBULANTE     IN     TENEBRIS     .     .     .  CUSTODI 

ANIMAM    MEAM   O    DOMINE    VISITANS  ME    VISI- 

TATIONE    SANCTORUM     REVELA     MIHI  ANIMUM 
IN    VISIONIBUS    NOCTIS 

ERE  yet  I  slept,  the  summer  night 
Lay  vague  and  mellow  in  the  gloom 
Beyond  the  steady  candlelight. 
The  moth  came  tapping  on  the  pane, 
Intent  on  doom. 
Then  sank  into  the  night  again. 

Then,  as  I  lie,  the  darkened  walls 

Grow  dim  ;  the  sheets  are  turned  to  air, 

As  fold  on  fold  the  slumber  falls. 

The  ticking  clock  grows  dumb  with  sleep  ; 
And  everywhere 

About  the  soul  slow  pauses  creep. 

The  sense  contracts  from  form  and  space — 
Shrinks  to  a  speck  within  the  brain — 

Then  opens  on  a  wider  place 

That  knows  no  law,  no  harmony  ; 
Till  once  again 

A  newer  world  is  born  for  me. 

34 


VISIONS    OF    THE    NIGHT 
My  spirit  moves  in  dark  dismay 
About  a  house  of  misty  halls  : 
I  hear  the  shuddering  branches  sway 
At  gable-corners  ;  on  the  floor 
And  on  the  walls 
The  firelight  glimmers  through  the  door. 

I  sit  and  talk  beside  the  bed, 

Grasp  hands,  and  meet  the  living  eyes, 

Of  one  whom  I  had  fancied  dead 

Some  ten  years  back  :   "  How  strange,"  I  say 
In  glad  surprise, 

"  That  we  should  meet  again  to-day  !  " 

He  smiles  for  answer  :  sudden  then 

I  understand  the  mystery 
Of  dying,  for  the  sons  of  men  ; 

And  wonder  where  the  sadness  lay 
To  see  him  die 
Last  year — or  was  it  yesterday  ? 

All  passes  ; — down  long  corridors, 

That  lead  about  this  wilderness, 
Fall  footsteps  tramping  on  the  floors, 

That  come  from  nowhere  and  are  gone  ; 
Yet  none  the  less 
I  run  in  panting  terror  on. 

35 


VISIONS    OF    THE    NIGHT 
Here  is  a  lawn  with  beds  and  grass  ; 

The  birds  sing  shrilly  in  the  air, 
While  multitudes  pass  and  re-pass, 
Who  fill  me  with  unknown  distress, 
That  holds  me  there 
To  mark  their  swift  unweariedness. 

And  so  with  eyes  that  ache  to  close, 
And  feet  that  fly  and  flag  in  turn, 

About,  about,  my  spirit  goes. 

In  wondrous  wise  from  deep  to  deep, 
Before  me  burn 

The  crumbling  pageantries  of  sleep. 

O  Lord  of  Light,  who  gav'st  me  breath, 

And  set'st  my  spirit  ill  at  ease 
Within  the  body  of  this  death, 

What  means  this  dreaming  rush  and  rout— 
These  phantasies 
Born  from  within  and  seen  without  ? 

Since  ghost  and  devil,  foe  and  friend 

Throng — shadows  on  this  shadow-stage — 

Move  from  no  source  and  seek  no  end — 
Since  all  the  passions  born  of  fear 
Terror  and  rage, 

As  in  a  looking-glass  appear  ; 

36 


VISIONS    OF    THE    NIGHT 
Why  com'st  Thou  not  Thyself,  O  Lord, 

To  still  the  tossing  of  the  brain, 
And  calm  with  one  imperious  word 
This  storm  of  fancy  under  Thee, 
And  yet  again 
Bid  peace,  as  once  in  Galilee  ? 

Come,  Lord  ;  and  if  through  toilsome  days 

I  pray  in  dumb  perplexity, 
And  strive  to  lift  my  wearied  praise, — 

Yet  let  me  rest  when  night  is  deep, 
And  look  on  Thee 
The  Lord  of  waking  and  of  sleep. 


37 


PLEAD  THOU  MY  CAUSE  ! 

I 
ATTRITION 

PLEAD  Thou  my  cause,  else  who  will  plead 
for  me, 
My  Kingly  Advocate  before  the  Throne  ? 
Trembling  I  stand  ;  guilty,  ashamed,  alone, 
Girt  only  by  my  own  iniquity, 
Cried  down  by  sins  that  fain  would  silence  Thee, 
Some  coming  after,  some  to  judgment  gone. 
What  I  have  done,  what  I  have  left  undone, 
Beckon  me  out  to  deathless  misery. 

The  Court  is  set,  and  will  not  let  me  go  ; 

The  heavy  books  are  black  with  blotted  shame. 
I  cannot  answer  ;  none  can  plead  but  Thou. 
I  knew  not  what  I  did  in  sinning  so  ; 

Hell  hungers  for  me  ;  see,  the  worm,  the  flame  ! 
Nought  but  Love's  eloquence  can  save  me. 
now. 


38 


PLEAD  THOU  MY  CAUSE  ! 

II 
CONTRITION 

PLEAD  Thou  my  cause  ;  yet  let  me  bear  the 
pain, 
Lord,  Who  hast  done  so  much  to  ransom  me, 
Now  that  I  know  how  I  have  wounded  Thee, 
And  crucified  Thee,  Prince  of  Life,  again. 
Yea,  let  me  suffer  ;  Thou  wilt  not  disdain 
To  let  me  hang  beside  Thee  on  the  Tree 
And  taste  Thy  bitter  Cup  of  agony. 
Let  it  not  be  that  Thou  hast  died  in  vain. 

Ah,  awful  Face  of  Love,  bruised  by  my  hand, 
Turn   to  me,   pierce  me  with  Thine  eyes  of 
flame, 
And  give  me  deeper  knowledge  of  my  sin. 
So  let  me  grieve  ;  and,  when  I  understand 
How  great  my  guilt,  my  ruin,  and  my  shame, 
Open  Thy  Sacred  Heart  and  let  me  in  ! 


39 


THE  INVITATION 

LORD  take  Thine  ease  within  my  heart, 
Rest  here  and  count  Thyself  at  home  ; 
-J     Do  as  Thou  wilt  ;  rise,  set,  depart ; 
My  Master,  not  my  guest,  Thou  art  ; 

Come  as  Thou  wilt,  but  come,  Lord,  come. 

Do  Thine  own  pleasure.     Surely,  Lord, 
Thou  art  full  free  to  come  and  go, 

To  lift  my  sorrow  by  a  word, 

Or  pierce  me  with  a  sudden  sword, 
And  leave  me  sobbing  in  my  woe. 

Come  in  broad  day,  for  good  or  ill, 

In  time  of  business  or  of  prayer  ; 
Come  in  disguise,  if  so  Thy  Will 
Be  better  served,  that  I  may  still 

Wait  on  my  Lord,  though  unaware. 

Come  with  the  dawn,  shine  in  on  me 
And  wake  my  soul  with  welcome  light ; 

Or  let  the  twilight  herald  Thee, 

And  falling  dusk  Thy  shelter  be 

To  shroud  Thy  coming  from  my  sight. 

40 


THE    I  N V ITATI  O  N 

Come  by  the  way  beneath  the  trees 

Where  whispering  heath  and  bracken  stir  ; 
There,  where  my  spirit  takes  her  ease, 
Let  that  pure  scented  evening  breeze 
Waft  me  the  aloes  and  the  myrrh. 

Come,  tender  Lover,  still  and  bright, 

Rose  crowned  and  framed  in  gracious  form  ; 
Or  come  with  terror,  and  by  night, 
Thundrous  and  girt  with  vivid  light, 
A  giant  striding  with  the  storm. 

Come  through  the  Cloister,  past  the  lawn 
And  laurels  where  the  thin  jet  plays  ; 

Where,  from  the  wrangling  world  withdrawn, 

Waking  to  silence  dawn  by  dawn, 

My  soul  comes  forth  to  studious  days. 

Come  through  the  carven  door,  and  bring 

A  burst  of  Music  through  to  me  ; 
One  chord  of  organ-thundering 
And  measured  song  of  those  that  sing, 
Dear  Saviour,  to  the  praise  of  Thee. 

Or  come  by  some  forgotten  way 

Untrodden  long  and  overgrown  ; 
And  on  a  sudden  on  a  day 
Burst  in  ;  snap  web  and  ivy  spray 

That  claim  the  entrance  for  their  own. 


4i 


THE     I  N  V  I  TAT  I  O  N 

So  many  doors,  and  all  divine, 

And  every  latch  is  loose  to  Thee  ; 
So  many  paths,  and  all  are  Thine 
That  bring  Thee  to  this  heart  of  mine, 
And  all  are  therefore  dear  to  me  ! 


42 


THE  TERESIAN  CONTEMPLATIVE 

SHE  moves  in  tumult  ;  round  her  lies 
The  silence  of  the  world  of  grace  ; 
The  twilight  of  our  mysteries 
Shines  like  high  noonday  on  her  face  ; 
Our  piteous  guesses,  dim  with  fears,  ' 
She  touches,  handles,  sees,  and  hears. 

In  her  all  longings  mix  and  meet  ; 

Dumb  souls  through  her  are  eloquent  ; 
She  feels  the  world  beneath  her  feet 

Thrill  in  a  passionate  intent; 
Through  her  our  tides  of  feeling  roll 
And  find  their  God  within  her  soul. 


Her  faith  the  awful  Face  of  God 

Brightens  and  blinds  with  utter  light  ; 

Her  footsteps  fall  where  late  He  trod  ; 
She  sinks  in  roaring  voids  of  night  ; 

Cries  to  her  Lord  in  black  despair, 

And  knows,  yet  knows  not,  He  is  there. 


43 


THE    TERESIAN    CONTEMPLATIVE 
A  willing  sacrifice  she  takes 

The  burden  of  our  fall  within  ; 
Holy  she  stands  ;  while  on  her  breaks 

The  lightning  of  the  wrath  of  sin  ; 
She  drinks  her  Saviour's  cup  of  pain, 
And,  one  with  Jesus,  thirsts  again. 


44 


O  DEUS  EGO  AMO  TE 

OGOD,  I  love  Thee  mightily, 
Not  only  for  Thy  saving  me, 
Nor  yet  because  who  love  not  Thee 
Must  burn  throughout  eternity. 
Thou,  Thou,  my  Jesu,  once  didst  me 
Embrace  upon  the  bitter  Tree. 
For  me  the  nails,  the  soldier's  spear, 
With  injury  and  insult,  bear — 
In  pain  all  pain  exceeding, 
In  sweating  and  in  bleeding, 
Yea,  very  death,  and  that  for  me 

A  sinner  all  unheeding  ! 
O  Jesu,  should  I  not  love  Thee 
Who  thus  hast  dealt  so  lovingly — 
Not  hoping  some  reward  to  see, 
Nor  lest  I  my  damnation  be  ; 
But,  as  Thyself  hast  loved  me, 
So  love  I  now  and  always  Thee, 
Because  my  King  alone  Thou  art, 
Because,  O  God,  mine  own  Thou  art  ! 


45 


FULFILMENT 

FECISTI  NOS   AD  TE   ET  INQUIETUM   EST  COR 
NOSTRUM  DONEC  REQUIESCAT  IN  TE 

THE  City  wakes  to  fever  once  again, 
Breathes  up  her    smoke,   and  restless  lies 
below, 
Thirsty  for  life  and  eager  of  her  pain  ; 
See,  as  the  sun  goes  down 
How  all  the  slumbrous  town 
Tosses  her  craving  fingers  to  and  fro  ! 

The  sobbing  child  that  breaks  her  heart  at  sin, 

The  fool  self-centred  at  his  solemn  play, 
The  saint  that  dies  without,  the  knave  within, 
Each  adds  a  note,  and  dies  ; 
While  all  about  them  rise 
The  crashing  discords,  of  a  world's  dismay. 

Come,  lift  thine  eyes  from  out  this  dark  unrest 

Beyond  the  bitter  mist  of  tears  and  blood  ! 
Above  the  vivid  fury  of  the  west, 
With  radiance  softly  keen, 
Incredibly  serene, 
A  star  swims  high  above  the  phantom  flood, 

46 


FULFILMENT 
Till  in  an  ordered  glory,  star  by  star, 

Leaps  into  life  the  wonder  of  the  sky  ; 
And  in  dark  vaults,  immeasurably  far, 

The  splendour  spreads  and  breaks, 
And  all  wide  heaven  awakes 
And  earth's  disorders  and  her  tumults  die. 

Come,  lift  thine  eyes  from  that  disordered  heart — 

Pities  and  passions,  half-born  treacheries, 
Follies  and  sudden  prudence — come  apart 

And  watch  the  dark  unfold 

Her  myriad  gates  of  gold 
Till  all  thy  wailing  into  wonder  dies  ! 

So  to  the  soul  that,  weary  of  her  pain, 

Looks  for  her  Lord  in  uttermost  despair, 
He  spreads  a  vision  of  Himself  again  ; — 

Kindles  her  ancient  creed, 

Lightens  the  dark  indeed, 
And  writes  Himself  in  glory  everywhere. 

Here  throbs  a  heart  that  only  lives  tor  love, 
For  warmth  and  colour,  passion  and  desire, 

Cries  out  for  these  alone  : — and,  lo  above, 
Opens  a  vision  dim- 
Wide  Arms  that  yearn  for  him, 

Eyes  full  of  longing  and  a  Heart  of  fire. 


47 


FULFILMENT 

Here  dwells  a  subtle  mind  that  seeks  to  trace 

In  line  on  line  a  symmetry  and  plan, 
To  mark  degrees  of  glory  and  of  grace  : — 

And,  lo,  all  wisdom  lies 

Within  the  tranquil  Eyes 
Of  that  Incarnate  Word  that  dwelt  with  man. 

Here  lives  a  soul  that  kindles  at  a  tale 

Of  noble  deeds  and  daring,  fair  to  see, 
For  very  love  of  fighting  glad  to  fail  ; — 

And,  lo,  the  hard-won  throne 

Of  Him  that  went  alone 
To  win  it,  and  a  crown,  on  Calvary. 

Lo,  to  the  soul  that  looked  for  peace  on  earth, 

And  lost  her  yearning  with  the  barren  years, 
There  dawns  the  Star  that  lit  the  Saviour's  Birth- 
Broadens,  until  four-square, 
Gem-built  and  jewelled  fair, 
As  once  to  John,  the  Peace  of  God  appears. 

Nay,  but  the  veriest  sinner  in  his  sin 

Seeks  but  to  clasp  the  life  he  knows  is  there, 
Driv'n  reckless  by  the  power  of  God  within  : — 
Yet  he  may  rise  and  gain 
Some  harvest  of  his  pain, 
As  Peter  rose  to  pardon  through  despair. 

48 


FULFILMENT 
Ah,  God  is  good,  Who  writes  His  glory  plain 

Above  thee,  and  about  thee  at  thy  side, — 
Bids  thee  look  upward  from  that  blinding  pain, 
And,  ere  thy  longing  tires, 
Kindles  His  sudden  fires. 
Look,  and  let  all  thy  soul  be  satisfied  ! 


49 


AFTER  A  RETREAT 

WHAT  hast  thou  learnt  to-day  ? 
Hast  thou  sounded  awful  mysteries, 
Hast  pierced  the  veiled  skies, 
Climbed  to  the  feet  of  God, 
Trodden  where  saints  have  trod, 
Fathomed  the  heights  above  ? 

Nay, 
This  only  have  I  learnt,  that  God  is  love. 

What  hast  thou  heard  to-day  ? 
Hast  heard  the  Angel-trumpets  cry, 
And  rippling  harps  reply  ; 
Heard  from  the  Throne  of  flame 
Whence  God  incarnate  came 
Some  thund'rous  message  roll  ? 

Nay, 
This  have  I  heard,  His  voice  within  my  soul. 

What  hast  thou  felt  to-day  ? 
The  pinions  of  the  Angel-guide 
That  standeth  at  thy  side 


50 


AFTER    A    RETREAT 

In  rapturous  ardours  beat, 
Glowing,  from  head  to  feet, 
In  ecstasy  divine  ? 
Nay, 

This  only  have  I  felt,  Christ's  hand  in  mine. 


51 


IN  THE  MONTH  OF  MAY 

"TT     "TAIL    Mary!"     Gabriel    whispered,    as 
I         I  he  dropt — 

JL      JL     A  shining  herald  of  the  Holy  Three. 
"  Hail  Mary  !  "  and  the  dying  world  half-stopt 
His  sick,  sin-laden  breath 
In  nestling  Nazareth  ; 
And  singing  cherubim  looked  down  to  see. 


"  Hail  Mary  !  "     See,  the  trembling  of  the  air  ; 

The  Presence  moves  about  her  soft  as  fire  ; 
For  righteousness  and  peace  have  kissed  there. 
And  suddenly  the  Shrine 
Is  bright  with  light  Divine, 
The  Hope  of  Israel  and  the  world's  Desire. 

He  whom  we  sought  came  suddenly,  and  found 

His  Temple  clean  from  every  spot  of  sin  ; 
And  all  the  world  seems  consecrated  ground  ; 

Her  prayers,  like  incense,  rise  ; 

And  see,  her  very  eyes 
Shine  like  twin  tapers  as  the  Lord  comes  in. 


52 


IN    THE    MONTH    OF    MAY 

Where  the  four  mystic  Eden-rivers  rise 

The  Angel-guard,  that  stands  above  the  vale 
And  keeps  the  gate  of  sunlit  Paradise, 
Let  fall  his  sword  of  flame 
And  cried  upon  thy  name, 
"  Hail  Mary  !  "  and  the  garden  answered  "  Hail  !  " 

Shouted  the  sons  of  God  ;  the  morning  stars 
Sang  once  again,  as  when  the  Lord  began 
To  build  the  hills  with  battlements  and  bars. 
Ah,  what  a  cry  there  fell  ! — 
"Jesus,  Emmanuel," 
The  Lord  of  Angels  and  the  Son  of  Man  ! 

"  Hail  Mary  !  "     For  the  world  remembers  yet 

The  Maiden  Mother  and  the  Holy  Son  ; 
Remembers  !     How  can  any  child  forget 
The  hope  of  heaven  and  thee — 
Such  stainless  purity — 
Sin  conquered,  and  the  reign  of  peace  begun  ? 

Remembers  !     Yea,  if  I  remember  not 

The  joys  of  Nazareth  and  Bethlehem, 
Yet  can  thy  dolours  never  be  forgot  : 

Thy  thorn-crowned  Son  and  thee 
Set  high  on  Calvary, 
The  whole  world  mourns  for — and  remembers  them. 

53 


IN    THE    MONTH    OF    MAY 

"  Hail  Mary  !  w  When  the  ungenerous  sons  of  men 

Grieve  at  thy  glory,  strip  thee  of  thy  praise, 
The  beasts  and  birds  take  up  the  song  again 

With  carol  shrill  and  high 

Of  Maying  melody  : 
*  Hail  Mary,  Mary  Maiden,  full  of  grace  !  " 

O  Mother,  take  this  verse  and  pray  for  me, 

Now  and  at  my  last  hour,  lest  that  the  cost 
Of  my  redemption,  and  thy  charity, 
Be  wasted  on  thy  Child, 
O  Mary  undefiled, — 
Lest  grace  be  vanquished  and  a  sinner  lost  ! 


54 


WEDDING  HYMN 

FATHER,  within  Thy  House  to-day 
We  wait  Thy  kindly  love  to  see  ; 
Since  thou  hast  said  in  truth  that  they 
Who  dwell  in  love  are  one  with  Thee, 
Bless  those  who  for  Thy  blessing  wait, 
Their  love  accept  and  consecrate. 

Dear  Lord  of  love,  whose  Heart  of  Fire, 

So  full  of  pity  for  our  sin, 
Was  once  in  that  Divine  Desire 

Broken,  Thy  Bride  to  woo  and  win  : 
Look  down  and  bless  them  from  above 
And  keep  their  hearts  alight  with  love. 

Blest  Spirit,  who  with  life  and  light 
Didst  quicken  chaos  to  Thy  praise, 

Whose  energy,  in  sin's  despite, 
Still  lifts  our  nature  up  to  grace  ; 

Bless  those  who  here  in  troth  consent. 

Creator,  crown  Thy  Sacrament. 


55 


WEDDING    HYMN 

Great  One  in  Three,  of  Whom  are  named 
All  families  in  earth  and  heaven. 

Hear  us,  who  have  Thy  promise  claimed, 
And  let  a  wealth  of  grace  be  given  ; 

Grant  them  in  life  and  death  to  be 

Each  knit  to  each,  and  both  to  Thee. 


56 


SAVONAROLA  MORITURUS 

DEATH  !     It  is  death,  dear  death,  whom  I 
sought  so  long 
On  the  rack,  on  the  stairs,  in  the  cell, 
Death   that  I  feared,  half- feared,  when   my  brain 
was  strong, 

And  my  heart  was  well. 
Now  I  am  sickened  of  life,  if  life  be  this, 

Death  comes  as  dear  as  a  bride  ; 
Dying  is  rest  from  the  flesh,  and  dying  is  bliss 
With  Thee  at  my  side. 

"  Faint  heart,  poor  soul,"  do  they  say,  "  to    recant 
at  a  pain, 
To  repent  at  the  turn  of  a  screw  !  " 
Ah,  I  ask  pardon  of  God  again  and  again, 

And  pardon  from  you  ! 
Can  the  brain  balance  and  weigh  when  the   sinews 
are  rent, 
Is  there  room  but  for  agony  there  ? 
What  if  the  lips  have  lied,  did  the  heart  consent 

In  that  night  of  despair  ? 
Slow  rocked  the  rafters  above  as  I  blinked  in   my 
pain 

57 


SAVONAROLA    MORITURUS 

With  the  tears  and  the  sweat  in  my  eyes  ; 
Torn  was  my  heart  on  the  rack,  and  entangled  my 
brain  ; 

Is  there  cause  for  surprise  ? 

Visions  !   what   visions  ?    I    know  not,  but    leave 
them  to  Him 
Who  allowed  me  to  dream  of  a  day 
When  a  world  that  is   weary  with  sorrow,  whose 
longings  are  dim 

And  dumb  with  delay, 
Shall  look  to  this  city  and  cry  for  that  secret  of  hers 

That  should  shine  in  her  eyes,  on  her  lips. 
Nay,  but  I  dreamed  of  too  much  !  the  wisest  man 
errs, 

The  surest  foot  slips. 
Yet  is  it  wonder  I  dreamed  that  the  King  of  the  sky 

Should  be  King  of  the  earth  that  He  trod  ? 
Nay,  He  was  King  for  a  moment  in  Florence,  and  I 
Gave  glory  to  God. 

Yea,  is  it  wonder  I  dreamed  that  the  Saviour  could 
save, 
As  I  saw  in  the  twilight  below 
God's  light  a-glimmer  on  faces  in  transept  and  nave  ? 
Who  could  know,  who  could  know 

58 


SAVONAROLA    MORITURUS 

Soon — ah  so  soon — that  the  glimmer  would  change 
to  a  glare 
And  the  stillness  to  noisy  contempt — 
Nave    where    they    listened    would  yield    to    the 
bellowing  square, 

And  the  dream  that  I  dreamt 
Fade  in  this  bitter  awakening  ?     Bitter  the  ban 

Of  the  Church  that  I  love.     Yet  I  cry 
Mercy  of  God  :  for  the  mercies  or  curses  of  man 

Shall  be  nought  by  and  by. 
Naked  I  came  from  Him,  naked  return  I  again 

To  my  God  through  a  fiery  door  ; 
Back,  earth  to  earth,  go  I  through  a  portal  of  pain. 
Can  friar  do  more  ? 


59 


HERO  WORSHIP 

A  LMOST  a  very  god  thou  wert  to  me  ; 
L\     Haloed  with  brilliant  virtues  ;  every  grace 
/     V  Lived  in  thy  look  and  shone  about  thy  face  : 
I  bowed   beneath    thee,   loved,  feared,  worshipped 

thee. 
Then  in  my  folly  and  my  jealousy 
I  let  my  critic  thoughts  prevail  apace, 
Which   entered,  swarming,  tore  thee   from   thy 
place, 
And  dashed  thee  down  in  wrath  and  enmity. 

So  some  ungallant  priest  in  other  days 

Bade  Cromwell's  troopers  to  the  House  of  God, 
And  marked  Our  Lady  totter  from  the  height  ; 
And  when  the  shame  was  finished,  in  amaze  . 
Looked  piteously,  and,  kneeling  where  they  trod, 
Fell  all  a-weeping  at  the  sorry  sight. 


60 


LAUDA  SION  SALVATOREM 

IAUD,  O  Sion,  thy  Salvation, 
Laud  in  songs  of  exultation 
^J         This  thy  Shepherd  and  thy  Kin£ 
All  thy  might  in  triumph  raising 
Praise  Him  who  surpasses  praising, 
Far  beyond  thine  honouring. 

Be  our  theme  of  high  thanksgiving 
Living  Bread  and  source  of  living 

Set  to-day  before  us  here  : — 
Broken  at  that  Supper  blessed, 
As  by  every  mouth  confessed, 

For  the  brethren  gathered  there. 

Laud  be  lifted,  sweet  and  sounding, 
Ringing  from  an  heart  abounding, 

Rising  into  jubilee  ! 
Laud  in  duteous  celebration 
Of  this  Table's  consecration 

For  such  high  solemnity. 

Lo,  the  King  His  Law  revises ; 
Newer  truth  from  elder  rises, 
Newer  Law  and  Paschal  rite. 


61 


62 


LAUD  A    SION    SALVATOREM 

Ancient  truths  their  room  surrender, 
Glows  the  twilight  into  splendour, 
Darkness  vanishes  in  light. 

That  He  wrought  at  supper  lying 
In  remembrance  of  His  dying 

Christ  hath  bid  His  Church  renew  ; 
We  the  ordinance  obeying, 
Earthly  bread  and  wine  displaying, 

Consecrate  the  Victim  due. 

Now  the  sacred  truth  receiving 
We, — the  Bread  His  Flesh  believing 

And  the  Win.e  His  Blood  to  be, 
What  tho'  eye  and  mind  be  failing, 
Nature's  order  countervailing — 

Grasp  by  faith  the  mystery. 

Under  diverse  kinds  concealed 
While  to  sense  yet  unrevealed 

Lies  a  wonder  all-divine. 
Flesh  and  Blood  hath  each  its  token 
Yet  abides  their  Christ  unbroken 

Hidden  under  either  sign. 

Perfect  to  the  priest  who  breaks  it, 
Perfect  in  the  hand  that  takes  it, 
Christ  is  undivided  there. 


LAUDA    SION    SALVATOREM 
One  or  thousands  may  receive  Him 
Yet  true  hearts  in  truth  believe  Him 
Unconsumed  everywhere. 

Good  and  bad  alike  partaking 
Each,  by  diverse  lot,  is  making 

One  to  woe  and  one  to  weal, 
Each  from  each  is  set  asunder  : 
Mark  the  word  of  grace  and  wonder — 

One  to  hurt  and  one  to  heal. 

Thus  the  Lord  His  Presence  hiding 
Dwells  in  many  parts  abiding, — 
Every  soul  in  Him  confiding 

Doubts  not  that  the  Whole  is  there. 
He  the  One  remaineth  ever 
Under  every  part :  for  never 
Aught  can  Christ  from  Christ  dissever, 

Still  abiding  everywhere, . 


63 


CHRISTIAN  EVIDENCES 

NOW  God  forbid  that  Faith  be  blind  assent, 
Grasping  what  others  know  ;  else  Faith 
were  nought 
But  learning,  as  of  some  far  continent 

Which  others  sought, 
And  carried  thence,  better  the  tale  to  teach, 
Pebbles  and  shells,  poor  fragments  of  the  beach. 

Now  God  forbid  that  Faith  be  built  on  dates, 

Cursive  or  uncial  letters,  scribe  or  gloss, 
What  one  conjectures,  proves,  or  demonstrates  : 

This  were  the  loss 
Of  all  to  which  God  bids  that  man  aspire, 
This  were  the  death  of  life,  quenching  of  fire. 

Nay,  but  with  Faith  I  see.     Not  even  Hope, 

Her  glorious  sister,  stands  so  high  as  she. 
For  this  but  stands  expectant  on  the  slope 

That  leads  where  He 
Her  source  and  consummation  sets  His  seat, 
Where  Faith  dwells  always  to  caress  His  Feet. 

Nay,  but  with  Faith  I  saw  my  Lord  and  God 

Walk  in  the  fragrant  garden  yesterday. 
64 


CHRISTIAN    EVIDENCES 
Ah  !  how  the  thrushes  sang  ;  and,  where  He  trod 

Like  spikenard  lay 
Jewels  of  dew,  fresh-fallen  from  the  sky, 
While  all  the  lawn  rang  round  with  melody. 

Nay,  but  with  Faith  I  marked  my  Saviour  go, 

One  August  noonday,  down  the  stifling  street 
That  reeked  with  filth  and  man  ;  marked  from  Him 
flow 

Radiance  so  sweet, 
The  man  ceased  cursing,  laughter  lit  the  child, 
The  woman  hoped  again,  as  Jesus  smiled. 

Nay,  but  with  Faith  I  sought  my  Lord  last  night, 

And  found  Him  shining  where  the  lamp  was  dim ; 
The  shadowy  altar  glimmered,  height  on  height, 

A  throne  for  Him  : 
Seen  as  through  lattice  work  His  gracious  Face 
Looked  forth  on  me  and  filled  the  dark  with  grace. 

Nay  then,  if  proof  and  tortured  argument 

Content  thee — teach  thee  that  the  Lord  is  there, 
Or  risen  again  ;  I  pray  thee  be  content, 

But  leave  me  here 
With  eye  unsealed  by  any  proof  of  thine, 
With  eye  unsealed  to  know  the  Lord  is  mine. 

E  65 


CHRISTIAN    EVIDENCES 

Prove  if  thou  wilt,  my  friend,  that  Paul  is  Paul 

And  Peter  Peter  :  talk  till  crack  of  doom  ; 
Marshal  thy  facts  ;  yes,  yes,  I  know  them  all  ; 

And,  spite  of  gloom, 
Of  all  the  dust  and  science  raised  by  thee, 
I  saw  my  Lord  was  there  Who  smiled  on  me. 

Thou  dost  believe  that,  ah,  so  long  ago 

He  lived,  wrought  marvels,  and  was  crucified, 
Because  that  Holy  Matthew  tells  thee  so  ? 

I,  on  my  side, 
Know  Him  as  Love  ;  and  Love  could  not  pass  by 
And  leave  men  sinning — therefore  Love  must  die. 

Thou  dost  believe,  because  He  rose  again, 
That  Christ  is  very  God  ?  Yet  I  believe 
He  rose  because  I  see  Him  walk  with  men, 

Sinners  receive, 
Loose  stammering  tongues,  open  the  blindest  eyes. 
And  none  but  God  doth  so  ;  and  God  must  rise. 

"  Nay,  but  I  serve  Him,"  is  thy  claim,  "  for  yet 

The  faith  of  some  rests  all  on  evidence. 
Men  will  remember  me,  while  they  forget 

Thine  eloquence, 
And  set  it  by  for  solid  argument ; 
Let  me  serve  such,  and  I  am  well  content." 
66 


CHRISTIAN    EVIDENCES 
Each  to  his  own  :  yet  surely  I  have  read 

How  of  two  sisters  (each  to  Him  was  dear), 
One  listened  but  to  what  the  Saviour  said, — 

Thought  to  be  near 
The  Lord  Himself  were  best : — the  other  ran 
Laid  plates,  clashed  dishes,  filled  and  set  the  can  ; 

And  all  to  serve  Him.     Yet  the  Lord  preferred 

A  quiet  face,  and  that  turned  up  to  read 
The  reason  of  His  silence  or  His  word  ; 

And  said  indeed 
Somewhat,  I  fancy,  of  a  better  part 
Near  to  His  Feet,  but  nearer  to  His  Heart. 

Choose  thou,  then,  Martha,  if  thou  wilt  ;  perchance 

The  joy  of  serving  is  enough  for  thee. 
Let  me  choose  Mary  ;  yea,  love's  arrogance 

Is  all  for  me  : 
Nay,  more^than  Mary — let  me  seek  His  side 
And  sit  by  Him  in  penitential  pride. 


67 


THE  PRIEST'S  LAMENT 

IORD,  hast  thou  set  me  here 
Thy  priest  to  be, 
_>     The  burden  of  Thy  yoke  to  bear, 
To  feel  thy  cords  about  me  set, 
Wince  at  the  lash,  but  never  yet 
Thy  Face  to  see  ? 

Lord,  see  what  wounds  on  me 

Thy  burden  makes  ! 
Dost  Thou  despise  my  misery  ? 
Ah,  Master  !  wilt  Thou  let  me  strain, 
And  fall  and  rise  and  fall  again, 

Till  my  heart  breaks  ? 

Lord,  I  am  near  to  die, 

So  steep  the  hill, 
So  slow  the  wheels,  so  feeble  I, 
The  halting  place  so  far  above. 
Art  Thou  indeed  a  God  of  Love, 

And  tender  still  ? 


68 


THE    PRIEST     S    LAMENT 

"  Son,  turn  a  moment,  see 

Is  that  blood  thine  t 
Who  is  it  shares  thy  yoke  with  thee. 
Treads  foot  by  foot  with  thee  the  road? 
Whose  shoulder  bears  the  heavier  load, — 

Is  it  not  Mine  ?  " 


69 


IN  THE    GARDEN  OF  A    RELIGIOUS 
HOUSE 

SEE,  how  the  sombre  cassocks  come  and  go, 
About  the  sunny  garden,  in  and  out  ! 
God  reigns  in   highest  heaven — while   here 
below 
We  grope  and  rout  ; 
And,  like  our  foolish  fathers  down  the  ages, 
Look  for  divinity  in  printed  pages. 

"  Look  at  that  priest,  how  slow  he  walks,  how  slow  ! 
You  would  not  think  he  ran  a  race  with  Death  ; 
Why  does  he  loiter  here  ?     Rise,  rise  and  go, 

Draw  swifter  breath  ! 
Go  !  let  your  pulses  leap  with  love  and  laughter  ; 
Live  now  !  and  let  God  settle  what  comes  after  ! 

"  Mark   that  man — how  he   moves  with    nervous 
speed  ; 
His  blood  is  beating  hot  in  heart  and  brain  ; 
Ah,  cast  away  that  cold  and  cruel  creed  ! 

Go  back  again 
Tear  off  that  black  ;  and  leap  and  ride  and  run, 
And  live  like  Adam  in  the  wind  and  sun  ! 

7° 


IN    THE    GARDEN    OF    A    RELIGIOUS    HOUSE 

"  What,  does  God  love  to  see  his  creatures  pine, 

Crouching  and  cringing — weaklings  half-afraid  ? 
God,  who  has  made  the  oil,  the  wheat,  the  vine, 

Bright  sun,  cool  shade, 
God,  who    has    fashioned  youth,    clean  limbs,  red 

blood. 
What,  said  He  not  that  all  is  very  good  ? " 

So  spoke  the  Devil  in  me,  as  I  sat 

To  watch  the  brethren  passing  to  and  fro. 
So  he  had  whispered,  till  I  fancied  that 

Myself  said  so  : 
That  it  was  I  that  chafed  and  longed  to  flee 
And  taste,  with  God's  consent,  such  liberty. 

Then  dropt  a  sudden  sickness  on  my  heart, 
That  shook  it,  as  an  ague  shakes  a  limb. 
I  marked  a  lean  priest  as  he  walked  apart, 

And  feared  for  him  : 
So  once  men  trembled  when  they  saw  on  high 
Hung  on  a  Cross  a  God  in  agony. 

Ah  !  not  with  wealth  and  wine  and  gaiety 

Did  God  bring  back  His  wayward  human  race. 
There  was  no  beauty  there  for  us  to  see 

In  that  marred  Face, 
When  God  Incarnate  passed  from  Pilate's  hall, 
Bearing  the  heavy  Cross  to  save  us  all. 

71 


IN    THE    GARDEN    OF    A    RELIGIOUS    HOUSE 
No  gracious  woman  leaned  and  laughed  ;  no  child 
Clapped  gladsome  hands  to  speed  Him  to  that 
Hill; 
Only  the  piteous  Mother  undefiled 

Stared  white  and  still 
On  Him  Who  knew  her  pains  and  pitied  them, 
With  all  the  daughters  of  Jerusalem. 

Thus  Adam's  sin,  that  ruined  Adam's  seed, 
And  shut  the  gate  that  leads  to  Paradise, 
Was  ransomed  by  that  bitter  price  decreed — 

Christ's  Sacrifice — 
When  Satan  sickened,  and  the  old  world  died 
Beneath  the  sad  eyes  of  the  Crucified. 

The  Crucified  !     And  thus  His  servant  spoke  : 

"Whereby  the  world  is  crucified  to  me, 
And  I  unto  the  world."     The  darkness  broke, 

And,  fair  to  see, 
The  garden  shone — the  priests  went  to  and  fro. 
God  has  gone  up,  but  left  His  Cross  below. 


72 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

THERE  went  a  merry  company 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem, 
Going  all  to  taxed  be 
By  the  governour's  decree 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem — 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see. 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 
Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

Coldly  blew  the  wind  and  snow 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem. 

Two  there  were  that  walked  slow, 

All  that  day  so  long  ago, 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Would  I  had  been  there  also. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me! 

One,  a  maid  of  high  degree, 

On  the  road   to  Bethlehem, 
Walking,  walking  wearily  ; — 


73 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL 
"  Joseph — Joseph,  wait  for  me 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  !  " 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see. 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 
Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

Thus  they  came  the  town  within, 
To  the  town  of  Bethlehem  ; 

Sought  they  straight  the  public  inn, 

So  they  might  a  shelter  win 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem  ; 

See  them  tiding  at  the  pin. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

"  Get  you  gone — the  night  is  late 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem." 

Hear  them  chapping  at  the  gate, 

Richer  folk  both  small  and  great, 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem — 

When  they  knock  the  poor  must  wait. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  I 


74 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL 
Sought  they  straight  the  stable  door 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem. 
Mary  dropped  upon  the  floor  ; 
Wearied  was  she — wearied  sore 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem. 
"Joseph  dear — I  can  no  more." 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 
Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

"  Cheer  thee,  cheer  thee,  Mary  Maid, 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem — 

See  the  straw  is  smoothly  laid." 

Poor  folks'  wages,  poorly  paid, 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem  ! 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  aid. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

What  a  lodging,  cold  and  bare, 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem. 

Bring  me  wrappings  fine  and  fair, 

Silk  and  satin  rich  and  rare, 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem — 

Lay  our  Lady  softly  there  ! 


75 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 
Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me/ 

Nay,  no  silk  or  satin  bright 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem  ! 

Think  ye  on  this  wondrous  sight 

Soon  to  see  :  The  Lord  of  Light 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem 

Comes  in  lowliness  to-night. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me! 

Ox  and  ass  with  patient  pace, 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem, 

Mark  the  Maiden  full  of  grace 

Lying  by  the  manger-place 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem — 

Lying  in  such  sorry  case. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

Ere  the  night  had  passed  to  morn, 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem, 
Rose  the  Sun  on  us  forlorn  ; 


76 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL 
In  the  manger  old  and  worn, 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem, 
Jesus  Christ  om  Lord  was  born. 
Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 

On  the  road  to  Bethlehem  ; 
Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

Eastern  Kings  are  on  their  way 
To  the  town  of  Bethlehem  ; 

Shepherds  run  ere  break  of  day 

At  His  Feet  their  vows  to  pay 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem, 

Where  a  God  Incarnate  lay. 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
On  the  road  to  Bethlehem ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  ! 

Christian  souls,  with  one  accord 
Come  to  Holy  Bethlehem  ; 

Meet  Him  at  His  Holy  Board  ; 

Praise  the  Saviour,  praise  the  Lord,- 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem 

Who  on  us  His  glory  poured  ! 

Would  I  had  been  there  to  see 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem  ; 

Mary,  Joseph,  pray  for  me  I 


77 


AVE  VERUM  CORPUS  NATUM 

HAIL,  true  Body  born  of  Mary, 
Which  for  man  was  crucified  ; 
Lo,  the  mingled  blood  and  water, 
Flowing  from  the  pierced  Side  ! 

Lord  of  Life  Who  once  did'st  suffer, 
When  we  draw  our  latest  breath, 

Be  to  us  our  Food  and  succour 
In  the  awful  hour  of  death  ! 


78 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 

LAST  DAYS 

Canon  Sharrock,  of  Salford  Cathedral,  supplies 
the  following  account  of  Mgr.  Benson's  last  days  and 
death  : 

MONSIGNOR  BENSON  wrote  on  Sep- 
tember 22  (1914)  that  he  was  unwell  and, 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  had  promised 
to  preach  a  course  of  sermons  in  Salford  Cathedral 
during  the  month  of  October,  bade  me  to  be  prepared 
for  a  telegram  in  case  his  medical  adviser  declared  his 
condition  serious.  "I  write  this,"  he  said,  "  in  case 
you  receive  a  sudden  telegram,  and  I  trust  you  will 
not  imagine  me  either  dilatory  or  perverse."  He 
wrote  a  second  letter,  saying  he  had  seen  his  doctor, 
who  declared  that  the  pains  were  symptoms  of  "  false 
angina,"  and,  whilst  painful,  were  not  of  a  serious 
character.  He  was  permitted  to  continue  his  work. 
I  did  not  see  him  on  October  4,  the  first  Sunday 
of  October,  when  he  preached,  as  I  was  away  from 
home  ;  but  I  was  informed  that  he  appeared  some- 
what unwell.  He  proceeded  on  Monday,  October  5, 
to  Ulverston,  and  gave  a  week's  mission  there.  On 
F  81 


APPENDIX 

the  Saturday  evening  of  October  10  I  met  him  at 
Victoria  Station,  Manchester,  and  was  struck  at  once 
by  his  changed  condition.  He  appeared  incapable 
of  moving  with  his  usual  briskness,  and  stopped 
every  few  steps  to  inhale  deep  breaths  to  alleviate 
the  sudden  pain.  He  was  quite  confident  that  the 
distress  was  only  of  a  temporary  character,  as  his 
heart  had  been  pronounced  quite  sound.  He  found 
the  ascent  of  stairs  very  trying,  and  mounted  with 
great  slowness.  Every  expression  of  anxiety  on  my 
part  was  met  with  great  confidence  that  the  pain, 
though  severe,  was  of  no  consequence.  In  spite  of 
all  remonstrances  and  entreaties,  he  resolutely  de- 
clined my  request  that  he  should  rest  and  give  up 
his  work  at  the  Cathedral  and  elsewhere  for  the 
month  of  October.  With  that  politeness  ever  his 
wont  he  thrust  my  objections  aside.  He  preached 
on  the  Sunday  evening  of  October  n.  His  sermon 
was  a  little  longer  than  usual,  though  I  observed  the 
absence  of  his  usual  animation.  On  his  return  to 
the  sacristy,  he  was  obliged  to  rest  for  a  considerable 
time  in  a  chair.  He  soon  recovered,  however,  and 
retired  to  rest  somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  wishful 
to  make  up  for  the  great  loss  of  sleep  he  had  experi- 
enced during  the  week  owing  to  the  pain. 

After  an  awful  night  of  pain  and  great  restless- 
ness, he  decided  to  leave  for  London  on  Monday, 
82 


APPENDIX 
October  12,  by  the  early  morning  train.  We  had 
not  gone  many  yards  towards  the  station  when  he 
bade  me  stop  the  taxi,  and  drive  to  the  nearest 
doctor,  as  he  could  bear  the  pain  no  longer.  With 
great  difficulty  I  got  him  back  to  the  house,  and 
sent  for  the  nearest  doctor,  who  came  immediately. 
Examination  resulted  in  the  previous  verdict  being 
endorsed,  and  remedies  were  presented.  It  was 
deemed  advisable  to  cancel  all  engagements  for  the 
present,  though  the  Monsignor  suspended  his  judge- 
ment in  the  matter.  The  pain  yielded  to  treatment 
and  a  quiet  day  was  passed.  After  two  hours'  sleep 
that  night,  the  excruciating  pain  returned  with 
greater  violence  and  continued  all  Tuesday  without 
cessation.  Tuesday  night  and  Wednesday  morning 
saw  no  relief,  and  a  specialist  was  invited  to  share 
the  responsibility  of  the  medical  attendant.  A  long 
examination  resulted  in  the  endorsement  of  the 
previous  decision,  but  the  pain  still  continued  for 
some  time,  and  yielded  to  treatment  about  Wednes- 
day noon.  He  then  took  to  bed,  and  presumably 
was  on  his  way  to  the  recovery  of  sleep.  He 
obtained  broken  sleep  through  Wednesday  night. 
Congestion  of  the  right  lung  began  to  show  itself 
on  Thursday,  and  in  spite  of  the  continued  attend- 
ance of  the  specialist  and  doctor,  by  Thursday  night 
was  highly  developed.     Still  no  danger  was  antici- 

83 


APPENDIX 
pated,  and  his  splendid  vitality  was  deemed  sufficient 
to  throw  off  the  indisposition. 

Real  danger  became  manifest  on  Friday,  and 
Saturday  saw  little  change.  It  was  deemed  advis- 
able to  prepare  him  for  the  worst  eventuality,  but 
he  himself  had  full  confidence  in  his  strength  of 
recuperation.  He  received  the  Last  Rites  with 
great  devotion  and  all  unbidden  made  his  Profession 
of  Faith  with  marked  strength  and  vivacity. 
Sunday  morning  saw  a  change  after  a  restless  night 
which  had  tried  the  endurance  of  both  doctor  and 
nurse.  He  was  never  delirious,  but  his  restlessness 
was  acute.  On  Sunday  morning  I  gave  him  Holy 
Viaticum.  His  piety  and  devotion  were  most 
touching.  He  made  all  the  responses,  even  correct- 
ing me  when  my  emotion  caused  me  to  stumble  at 
the  "  Misereatur." 

On  Sunday  morning  he  received  a  visit  from  his 
brother  (Mr.  Arthur  C.  Benson),  which  gave  him 
great  pleasure.  He  even  then  informed  me  that  he 
would  be  quite  well  by  Tuesday,  "  though,"  he 
added,  "this  hard  breathing  is  a  terrible  bore." 
His  mental  faculties  were  as  keenly  active  as  ever, 
and  no  tendency  to  mental  exhaustion  was  observ- 
able. His  strength  appeared  good,  but  it  was  only 
too  evident  that  the  terrible  strain  on  the  heart 
from  the  pneumonia  was  beginning  to  tell.     Later 

84 


APPENDIX 
on,  in  the  evening,  for  the  first  time,  I  abandoned 
hope.     He  spoke  continually  to  me  of  his  friends, 
and  gave  me  his  many  messages. 

At  one  o'clock  on  Monday  morning,  having  left 
him  for  a  short  time,  I  was  hastily  summoned  by 
the  nurse,  at  his  request.  Entering  the  sick  room, 
I  saw  that  the  last  call  had  come.  He  told  me  so  him- 
self, with  the  words,  "  God's  will  be  done."  He 
bade  me  summon  his  brother,  who  was  in  the 
adjoining  apartment.  The  prayers  for  the  dying 
were  recited,  and  again  he  joined  in  the  responses, 
clearly  and  distinctly.  Once  when  I  paused  he 
bade  me  in  God's  name  to  go  on.  He  stopped  the 
prayers  twice  or  thrice  to  give  some  instructions  to 
his  brother.  He  asked  once  for  guidance  as  to  the 
right  attitude  towards  death.  Once,  as  I  paused, 
he  uttered  the  prayer,  "  Jesus,  Mary  and  Joseph,  I 
give  you  my  heart  and  my  soul,"  and  joined  with 
us  in  its  completion.  Conscious  almost  to  the  last 
moment,  seemingly  without  pain,  he  breathed  forth 
his  soul  without  struggle  at  1.30  a.m.  on  Monday 
morning.  With  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  priest  he 
died ;  it  was  just  as  if  he  had  gone  to  sleep. 

4$  The  Publishers  are  indebted  to  the  Editor  of  The  Tablet  for  leave 
to  reproduce  this  communication  and  portions  of  the  Prefatory  Note  from 
his  columns. 


cl/%i2)^UQ  t  mk  fax  J   - 


4 

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FACSIMILE  OF  ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON'S  WRITING 

A  letter  written  a  few  days  before  his  death  to 
Mr.  Norman  Potter 


PRINTED  AT 
THE  BALLANTYNE  PRESS 
LONDON    &  EDINBURGH 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


jfa'flfri, 


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